


Scrubbing Stone

by hystericalselcouth



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Relapse, Self-Harm, graphic descriptions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalselcouth/pseuds/hystericalselcouth
Summary: "He waits a day. For some reason, just knowing that you have a blade ready to use seems to keep the urge at bay. But, once you've done it again, it doesn’t just go away. He wakes up the next morning, faint red dotting his shorts, thinking of blood again. It doesn't really end."Modern AU - Grantaire has a bad day and he relapses. TW for really, really graphic descriptions of self-harm. Please don't read it if you know it'll trigger you. Just don't.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 37





	Scrubbing Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! It's me, projecting on to fictional characters again. major trigger warnings for self harm. Yeah, this fic is graphic. Still, I hope it touches a chord.

There was only so much he could take.

There was a container of spare sharpeners in Enjolras's room and one missing from the pile wouldn't be noticed. It would be so simple - get out the nail cutter, flip out the nail-filer, dig it into the screw of the sharpener and unscrew the blade. He'd then chuck the sharpener in the trash and that would be the end of it- with one semi-sharp blade to show for it. It would be so simple.

It wasn't so much about the action of hurting himself, because the damage had already been done. He had failed another course, been told off again and had immediately spiralled. It seemed like his life was one long Sisyphean repetition. He'd hurt, struggle to get back on his feet and the minute he had his head above the water again, he'd be pulled down once more. It was getting increasingly hard to convince himself to try. It felt like he had lost again, like he was the same person as he was three years ago - that nothing had changed and all his efforts went to the dogs. Nothing made sense anymore, except that his legs felt like jelly, ready to be cut. It was the only thing that made sense, so he did it. He waits a day. For some reason, just knowing that you have a blade ready to use seems to keep the urge at bay.

The momentary relief made him think about drink again, and how much easier it would be to get through the day with its help. But no, that was going too far. He congratulated himself for knowing that much. But, once you've done it again, it doesn’t just go away. He wakes up the next morning, faint red dotting his shorts, thinking of blood again. It doesn't really end. He thinks of it as he walks to class, he thinks of it when he zones out during lectures, he thinks of it when he pushes paint against canvas with an artist's spatula. He thinks of it when Enjolras is chopping up vegetables to go into a broth. He thinks of it when he fills in the online form for registering for the failed course again. He thinks of it when he puts on his shorts from the previous night. He thinks of it when Marius bursts into the room, announcing that he'd move in with Cosette. He is still thinking of it when he returns to bed for the night. Finally, when Enjolras's pale, thin hands wrap around his middle, Grantaire lets a shaky breath out and a few silent tears roll down his face.

"How was today?"

"I," he hesitated, but only for a moment. "Class was okay, started a new piece in the studio."

He had hesitated for a moment, but it was enough.

"Everything alright?"

But what about Enjolras's day? He wanted to know what his boyfriend had done, what new things were on his mind, what discussions in law school got him excited. But, goddamn it, there were these tears bleeding into his pillow and he didn't know how to stop it.

"R?"

Grantaire quickly rolled on his side to face Enjolras and buried his face in the other's chest. He could bear to see the look on his boyfriend's face. He wasn’t worth the concern he was getting.

Enjolras snuggled, pulling him in closer. He didn't say much, but he did the right things and Grantaire was grateful for it. Grantaire did want to say something, to get it off of him but, like always, he didn't know how. _I hurt myself_ is only a proxy for a hundred other things - _I don't think I can keep doing this, I don't want to have to fail another course, I don't want to be a stupid child and have a breakdown every time a problem comes up._ But, these scars on his things are all he's got, so he tries to tell Enjolras through his sobs.

"I took a sharpener from your room the other day."

"Oh." Again, Grantaire appreciated how Enjolras didn't say too much - only enough. "Is it about the Socio-II course?"

"No," he reasoned, still breathing heavily into Enjolras's shirt. "I mean, yeah, but that's not ..it."

"Hmm okay."

God, it was times like these, when nothing more could be said, that Grantaire wanted to drink. To make the hard parts easier.

Instead, as Enjolras held him tighter, curling his unwashed hair between long, thin fingers, Grantaire pressed his eyes shut. Maybe if he was hurting, it was okay to finally rest.


End file.
